A Life with Rose - Excerpt

"Well, then," Martha said. "Mystery solved. That's 'Love's Labour's Won' over and done with. Thought it might be something more, you know… more mysterious."
Suddenly from outside there came a loud grunt and a woman's scream. Like that, the Doctor, Rose, Martha and Shakespeare were out the door and running down the steps to the commotion. Outside, the Master of the Revels – who Shakespeare had named as Lynley – was staggering about, coughing up copious amounts of water from nowhere.
"It's that Lynley bloke," Martha said.
"Oh my god, what's wrong with him," Rose exclaimed.
"Leave it to me, I'm a doctor," the Doctor said going over and supporting Lynley.
"So am I," Martha said going over too. "Near enough…"
Suddenly with one last watery gasp Lynley groaned and collapsed to the ground. The Doctor went off, looking for something near by, Rose ran over to see if she could help. Martha bent over the body to see if there was a heartbeat.
"Got to get the heart going," she muttered. "Mr Lynley, c'mon, can you hear me? You're going to be alright." The Doctor and Rose came back over and she prepared to start mouth to mouth. But before she could, more water poured from his mouth.
"What the hell is that?" Rose asked fearfully.
"I've never seen a death like it. His lungs are full of water – he drowned and then… I dunno, like a blow to the heart. An invisible blow." He stood and turned to the Lady of the House. "Good mistress," he said to her. "This poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. A natural, if unfortunate demise. Call a constable and have him taken away."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll do it, Ma'am," the maid said.

"Why did you tell them that?" Martha asked the Doctor.
"This lot sill have got one foot in the Dark Ages. If I tell them the truth, they'll panic and think it was witchcraft."
"What was it then?" Rose asked. The Doctor hesitated only a moment.
"Witchcraft."

?...DW…?

"I've got you a room, Sir Doctor," Dolly Bailey, the Lady of the House told him. "You and your companions are just across the landing. I'm afraid it may be a tad small, but it's all we had left." The Doctor nodded his thank you, and she left the room.
"Poor Lynley," Shakespeare said. "So many strange events. Not least of all, this land of Freedonia, where a woman can be a doctor?"
"Where a woman can do what she likes," Martha told him.
"Including acting," Rose put in. The Doctor rolled his eyes.
"And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?"
"I do a lot of reading," he replied.
"A trite reply, yeah? That's what I do." He turned back to Martha. "And you, you look at him like you're surprised her exists. He's as much of a puzzle to you as he is to me. And yet you Dame Tyler," he turned to her. "You look at him as if you trust him with more than just your life. You know him better than anyone, and yet you still don't know him entirely."
"I think we should say goodnight," Martha said quietly, then she left.
"I must to work," Shakespeare said turning to his desk. "I have a play to complete. But I'll get my answers tomorrow Doctor. And I'll discover more about you and why this constant performance of yours."
"All the world's a stage," the Doctor quoted as they went to the door.
"Hmm, I might use that," Shakespeare said. "Goodnight, Doctor."
"Nighty-night, Shakespeare." He and Rose made to leave.
"Oh, Rose?" Shakespeare stopped her. "May I whisper something in your ear a moment?"
Rose looked at the Doctor hesitantly, the Doctor looked at Shakespeare somewhat in concern.
"Worry not Sir Doctor," he laughed. "I only wish to talk to your friend."
"Okay I guess, I'll be waiting just outside the door."
"I'd expect no less." With a small hesitation and one small look at Rose, the Doctor walked out of the room and closed the door, leaving the two of them alone. "Now Rose, come here. Let me tell you something," Shakespeare said. Rose sat down on the chair next to him and he leaned over the table towards her a little. "This is a sonnet I composed a few years back:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is and ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
- That is what I see… Only stronger."
"Only stronger? What does that mean? Who are you talking about?" she asked. Shakespeare only laughed.
"You should try not pretending to be blind. I know you can see it, you just don't want to."
With a nervous smile, Rose stood and made her way to the door again.
"Thank you," she said softly. "Goodnight, dear wordsmith."
"Dream sweetly, Rose."

"It's not exactly five-star, is it?" Martha said to the two of them as they walked in.
"Oh, it'll do. We've seen worse," the Doctor said. Rose shuddered trying not to remember the room they had stayed in on Drastnor.
"I haven't even got a toothbrush," Martha said.
"Ooh, um…" He patted his pockets and pulled one out. "Contains Venusian spearmint," he said.
"So who's going where?" Martha asked taking it from him. "There's only one bed."
"You can have it," Rose told her. "As he said, we've seen worse."
"Here, at least take this." She pulled the blankets off the bed and handed them to her. It's better than the ground at least." Rose smiled at her and began to spread them out. The Doctor had already seated himself on the ground. Rose looked over at him and frowned.
"Don't be ridiculous," she told him as she lay down. "Come over here, we can share. Remember what happened last time you slept on solid ground?"
"I'm fine Rose," he smiled. He watched as she tried to get comfortable, but he knew that she liked a pillow. "Oh alright," he said moving over onto the blanket with her. "Tell you what, come here." He opened his arms and she moved into them. Glad to have something to rest her head on.
Martha just smiled knowingly at the two of them. Were they really that blind, or just denying it?
"So, magic and stuff," she said sitting at the end of the bed. "That's a surprise. It's a little bit 'Harry Potter'."
"Oh! Wait till you read book seven," the Doctor told her. "I cried. This one," he gestured to Rose, "locked herself in the library for two days with a box of tissues."
"It only took two days to read?"
"I couldn't put it down," Rose smiled.
"But… is it real though? I mean – witches, black magic and all that, it's real?"
"'Course it isn't!" he scoffed.
"Well, how am I supposed to know?  I've only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break." Rose smiled at her. She remembered the feeling. Though, if anything she was willing to accept things a little easier than Martha was.
"Looks like witchcraft, but it isn't," the Doctor said to himself more than anyone else. "There's such a thing as psychic energy but a human couldn't channel it like that. Not without a generator the size of Taunton and I think we'd have spotted that."
"Oh please," Rose laughed. "You couldn't even see the London Eye!"
"No, Rose," he said looking at her. Their faces were inches apart. "There's something I'm missing. Something really close, staring me right in the face and I can't see it."
"Maybe it's some sort of alien that looks like a witch and… I don't know, can do magic?" she suggested. The Doctor smiled at her.
"It could be. Rose Tyler, you always say the exact right thing." She returned his smile. "You know, I never knew you liked acting. You should show me sometime, I bet you're brilliant."
"Just don't ask me to do a Scottish accent," she laughed. But soon the smile faded from her face as she thought.
Yes, she was very good at acting. So good that the Doctor didn't realise she was acting right now. That she'd been acting for a while now. Acting that to her, he was only a friend. Acting that there was nothing wrong with her. She'd done well distracting him away from the Bad Wolf and the 'non-human' thing. But inside it scared her.
"Doctor…" she said. "One of Shakespeare's sonnets. Could you translate it into English for me?"
"How does it go?"
"Uh… Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments…"
"Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds?" he continued for her. "Let's see… in English – Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love-"
Rose hit him playfully when he just started quoting it normally and he grinned cheekily at her.
"Modern English!" she told him.
"I thought you knew all about his works," the Doctor teased.
"His plays, yeah. I never really much got into the sonnets."
"Right, well then. It more or less means: I hope I never find a reason why minds that truly love each other shouldn't be together.
It's not really love if it changes when you see the beloved change and it doesn't disappear if the beloved leaves.
Love is a constant, unchanging light that shines on storms without wavering.
It's the star that guides every wandering boat. And like a star, its value is beyond measure, even though its height can be taken.
Love isn't manipulated by time, even though time has the power to destroy looks and youth.
Love can't be changed as time goes on. It's something that lasts for all of time, to the very end.
If this is wrong, and you can prove it. Then I never wrote, and no man has ever loved.
… Yeah, I like that one. It's so true. Take it from someone who has seen love and billions of years of time."
"I like it," Martha said snuggling down. "It's beautiful and sounds really familiar. Anyway, night you two." She rolled over and blew out the candle.
"Night Martha," they replied snuggling down themselves.

Though the Doctor fell asleep long after Rose, he didn't know that his last waking thought was the exact same as hers. The both of them had been trying not to think about the situation they were in.
Because Rose and the Doctor fell asleep in each others arms.